


Every Day You Pass Me By

by MistressParamore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Female Homosexuality, Female Relationships, Female-Centric, Friends to Lovers, Motherhood, Older Characters, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressParamore/pseuds/MistressParamore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's worse than not having someone? Wanting someone you know can never be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating has been put as Mature for future chapters.

**Title** : Every Day, You Pass Me By

 **Fandom** : Harry Potter. Set during 7th year.

 **Rating** : T

 **Pairing** : Molly Weasley / Hermione Granger

 **Summary** : What's worse than not having someone? Wanting someone you know can never be.

* * *

Hermione Granger lay miserably in her bed, staring unseeingly at the canopy above her. For the umpteenth night in a row, she knew sleep would elude her. She felt tired, so tired, and it was not to do with the after effects of the final battle that had vanquished Voldemort and his followers. Leaden lethargy weighed her every waking step and even though she was exhausted her body would not segue into sleep.

The school was open as usual, Headmistress McGonagall determined for normal life to resume as quickly as possible. Every day more and more scars in the fabric of the building were repaired, charms and wards replaced, decorations returned to their prior state. Hermione agreed with the Headmistresses philosophy, no good could come from dwelling on the fallen, on the pain and terror of the feared end times. The fallen were honoured, their memories remembered and that was right and proper, but to hold back the resumption of life was not. She sighed heavily. It wasn't resuming life that was a problem. Or rather, it was. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept properly. She couldn't remember the last time she had walked under the sun and felt its warmth. She couldn't remember seeing colour around her, she couldn't remember seeing anything with any texture. Life was reduced to monochrome greys, the flatness of every day had sunk into her soul as surely as if a dementor had bestowed its kiss upon her. She couldn't even summon up the energy to cry.

This couldn't go on. She needed to talk to someone or she would surely have some kind of a mental breakdown. She ran a shaking hand though her curly brown hair. The once self assured witch was a shadow of her formidable former self and she knew of only one person who she could trust with the weight of her secret.

Slipping quietly out of her bed, she groped for her dressing gown and slippers, noiselessly exiting the dormitory. She paused by the common room, knowing from experience that some students weren't averse to extremely late nights and sometimes fell asleep on the comfy, stuffed sofas. The fire had died down, the chill causing her to shiver involuntarily, and she wryly noted some discarded homework over on the study table by a pile of potions textbooks. Wrapping her dressing gown closer around her, Hermione made her way to the portrait hole, closing it gently behind her so as not to wake the sleeping portrait. Outside in the corridor, she exhaled heavily. For the millionth time, she wondered what in the name of sanity she was doing. It was the middle of the night, or, more accurately, the wee small hours. The thought caused a flicker of a smile to ghost her features.  _You can't just go steaming to people's rooms at this hour!_  Hermione scolded herself.  _You can. You can to this person._  Swallowing her nerves, Hermione made her feet move before she lost all resolve. All too quickly it seemed to her, the Headmistresses rooms appeared. The griffin stared haughtily down its beak at her as she shakily whispered the password, causing it to move to one side. Hermione slowly ascended the staircase, her thumping heart feeling as if it was going to hammer out of her chest and her roiling stomach making her feel nauseous. At the top of the stairs she lifted her hand to knock, pausing in shock as the Gaelic lilt of the headmistress floated through the door.

"Come in, Miss Granger."

Somewhat bewildered, Hermione pushed open the door and stepped into the headmistresses study. Some distant part of her wasn't surprised to find the woman dressed in casual robes, clearly taking a break from whatever had occupied her at her desk, but another part marveled.

_Doesn't she ever sleep? Isn't there a door somewhere with a tartan robe hanging on the back of it?_

She shook her head slightly. Irrelevant.

Headmistress McGonagall was seated in a casual chair by the fireplace, opposite another casual chair that she indicated to Hermione to take. Her hair, always in a severe bun, was loose, and the richness of the midnight colour, not to mention the obviously natural wave, was quite startling. With her emerald eyes and elegant grace, the former Transfiguration Professor was quite striking.

"Are you going to tell me the reason for your visit or would you rather sit and stare?"

The headmistress enquired somewhat tartly, but the quirk of her lips reassured Hermione that there wasn't any sting behind her words.

Wiping her suddenly damp palms on her dressing gown, Hermione swallowed, the lump in her throat suddenly too painful. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She closed her mouth and coughed, swallowing nervously, and tried again.

"Er, I don't know how to say this…" she trailed off, wringing her dressing gown cord between trembling fingers. "Things have become so hard, I just don't know what to do…I'm not sleeping, I have no energy to do anything."

Hermione looked down into her lap, afraid to meet the compassionate eyes of her headmistress, afraid that the kindness she would see there would make her crack. Most of all, she feared letting the other woman down. Headmistress McGonagall was Hermione's ultimate role model and the other woman's disappointment would tear her apart. She hadn't even told her the main reason yet.

Hermione took a deep breath, determined to say it all now she was here.

"I realized a couple of years ago, something very fundamental about myself." She glanced upwards at the headmistress, who was watching her intently yet without any pressure.

"I realized that I'm gay," Hermione sighed. "And I've fallen in love with someone who I can never have." Despite her best efforts the tears began to fall. She wiped furiously at them, angry at her obvious lack of control.

"You don't know that Hermione," the headmistress said kindly.

"But I do Professor! She can never ever reciprocate my feelings…even if she had a complete change in sexual orientation, she would never look at someone so young as me…" the angry tears intensified. "I never knew this could  _hurt_  so much, it's killing me inside…"

"Hermione," the headmistress began, leaning forward and placing her elbows upon her knees. "Firstly, you are by no means the only lesbian in this school." She smiled as Hermione looked up in some surprise, the smile broadening at her next words. "And not just amongst the students either." The younger woman's mouth dropped open in a rather pretty 'o' of surprise.

"It's a lot more common than you imagine, of course most witches prefer discretion, but they are usually something of an open secret." She eyed her brilliant student. "That includes me," she said with a carefully blank face.

Hermione could only stare in incredulity.

"To think how much I was panicking about coming here," she managed.

The headmistress nodded with a small smile.

"I understand how hard it is to reconcile yourself with such self awareness. You are not alone."

Hermione nodded, looking down at her hands.

"Can I ask you a question, Hermione?"

"Of course, Professor."

"Who is the woman?"

"Does it matter?" Hermione's lower lip trembled. "It can never be resolved, I just have to try to get over it and move on." She sniffed as the tears cascaded down her already pink cheeks.

"It does matter Hermione, because things might not be as bad as you think. Plus, doesn't this woman have a right to know that someone loves her, whether or not she feels the same?"

Shaking her head, Hermione could only moan "no… I couldn't Professor, I just couldn't."

"Can you at least tell me who it is? I might know how to…ah…go about talking to her?"

Hermione looked back up at her headmistress. Slowly, she nodded.  _After all_ , she told herself,  _I trust Professor McGonagall, she won't go running and telling tales and once she knows who it is she'll know that nothing can be done_.

"It's Molly Weasley."

* * *

_**Comments would be gratefully received.** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Mature for future chapters.

**Title** : Every Day, You Pass Me By

 **Fandom** : Harry Potter. Set during 7th year.

 **Rating** : T

 **Pairing** : Molly Weasley / Hermione Granger

 **Summary** : What's worse than not having someone? Wanting someone you know can never be.

* * *

To her eternal credit, the headmistress did not look surprised at Hermione's answer. Unbeknownst to Hermione, Minerva McGonagall had suspected something of the kind, occasionally accepting the Weasley's invitations to various events and celebrations. The last one had been Harry and Ginny's engagement party and, although she had not conversed with Hermione particularly, she had noted the girl's downcast demeanour and reluctance to celebrate. The only time the headmistress had noted Hermione brighten was in the company of Molly Weasley. Whilst Hermione had spent many years with the Weasley family, Minerva had instinctively felt that there had been something more than familial affection on the part of the young brunette. It was something about the eyes, the way Hermione looked into Molly's eyes, the way her face lit up unconsciously, the lingering looks as Molly talked to her.

Even Rolanda Hooch had noticed. The headmistresses on/off girlfriend had merely raised an eyebrow, cocking her head in the direction of Hermione and Molly. Minerva had minutely shaken her head to indicate ' _not now_.' She certainly didn't want to be discussing Molly Weasley in the woman's own home, and certainly not at such a happy event as Ginny's engagement.

"How are things with Ron?" She asked instead.

The other woman gave a crooked smile in answer.

"I told him well before the war that there was no hope for us. He didn't take it well."

Ron's persistence in trying to make them an official couple had deeply upset her. Her temper had frayed after a particularly insistent bout of Ron's attentions, mitigated by a visit to The Burrow with all of his happily coupled-up family. It had culminated in an unpleasant row and Ron had not spoken to her since. Another very good reason for trying to get Molly Weasley well and truly out of her system.

Since their return to school to finish off their 7th year, Ron had been seen with Lavender Brown, most often the pair of them falling giggling out of cupboards, hastily adjusting clothing. They were rumoured to already be engaged.

The headmistress was well cognisant of all of this, being much more aware than even Hermione gave her credit for. She would not dream of stopping the pair of them, it was 'established' school practice and part and parcel of growing up. Lavender wasn't the brightest girl, but she was very pleasant and wouldn't be one to challenge Ron's point of view of anything. She was probably a very good match for him, actually.

"Have you spoken to any of the Weasley's since then?"

The headmistresses gentle tones brought Hermione back to the present.

Blushing, she shook her head.

"It all, er, just seemed so much easier to leave it," she confessed wretchedly. "It was cowardly, and I'm not proud of it, but it was just too much to deal with."

She hung her head, messy curls falling forwards hiding the girl's face.

The headmistress sighed. She understood why Hermione had acted that way, with the war as well there were other, bigger, priorities.

"Molly sometimes comes here to have a drink with me, you know," she said in a deceptively conversational tone of voice.

"That at least," the headmistress continued, referring to Hermione's lack of contact, "is something you can rectify."

Hermione nodded, squaring her shoulders resolutely.

"And why don't you use the opportunity to tell her, Hermione? She's a very kind, gentle woman who would never be offended by something like that." Minerva McGonagall paused. "It's always nice to know someone loves you. Even if circumstances mean you may not be able to act on it. It's not something to be ashamed of." She smiled kindly at the younger woman, emerald eyes sparkling.

Hermione smiled, for a moment transported back to The Burrow at the instant she realised she was in love. Ron was in the garden with Harry playing Quidditch, Ginny was refereeing and the twins had gone upstairs. Hermione was sitting in the sunny kitchen with Mrs. Weasley who had just filled the teapot and was standing directly in a ray of sunshine pouring through the window. Hermione had glanced up at her friends mother and felt her heart stop. The sun had lit up the woman's face, kindness and compassion in her laughing blue eyes that danced mischievously, her wide smile making her appear younger than her years. The sun made the burnished bronze of her hair shine, as if a fiery halo encircled her. Her full figure was slightly angled away from the table, dressed in a light green robe snugly encasing a full pair of breasts that strained lightly against the fabric.

For a moment all Hermione could do was stare, the sudden revelation of her feelings hitting her square in the chest and knocking the breath out of her. Then and there she had determined that Mrs. Weasley must never know.

Hermione looked at her headmistress, doubt once more clouding her features.

"But should I? I mean, with Arthur…." Her voice trailed off. Arthur Weasley had fallen during the war, defending the Ministry to the very last. He had stayed behind, taking on a group of death eaters who had sprung a surprise ambush from within the Ministry itself, so that others could have a clear escape. Arthur had saved many lives with his selfless action, being posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin.

"Hermione," the older witch sighed. "I know. But if you are waiting for a 'right time', it's not going to come."

The headmistress stood, brushing down her elegant robe.

"Molly owled me today. She will be coming tomorrow afternoon for a visit. Would you like me to tell her you want to speak with her?"

Hermione stared back up at the headmistress in horror. The older woman saw Hermione swallow hard, before replying.

"I'd rather meet somewhere neutral," she managed. "Hogsmeade? I can meet in the Three Broomsticks." She sighed. "I'll need the drink."

* * *

Over at The Burrow, Molly Weasley had just sat down at the large table in her kitchen. She frowned over her tea cup at the latest edition of the  _Daily Prophet_  in which Harry and Ginny were the latest headline. Their smiling faces were laughing animatedly in the picture, showing Ginny's engagement ring – the article enthusiastically speculating about Ginny's wedding robes and the location of the ceremony. Molly shook her head at the  _Prophet's_  antics, smiling tenderly at the picture of her youngest child. Even the war hadn't dampened the  _Prophet's_  enthusiasm for slightly scurrilous stories. She noticed that on every story Harry featured in, there was now always a paragraph about Arthur, and also Fred and Percy, the sons' Molly lost in battle. She sighed as she cast her eyes around her empty kitchen. She would never move, even now when she was all alone. The house was part of her, part of the life she had built with Arthur, and it was the children's home, and the grandchildren's. But, by Merlin, she was lonely. She bit her lip, trying to stem the tears that she felt prickling at the corner of her eyes. As the tears betrayed her best efforts by trickling down her softly rounded cheek, Molly couldn't keep her pain hidden any more. Only just managing to get her teacup back on the table, she wrapped her arms around her waist as she cried harder.

She didn't know what she was crying the hardest for – Arthur, Fred, Percy, her solitude and widowhood at not even 50 years old, the emptiness in the house that had always rung with laughter and children, or the fear of her own future. As the minutes ticked by, Molly howled her pain into the darkness of the night.

* * *

_**Please let me know what you think!** _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pay a visit to Molly Weasley

**_Summary_** : What's worse than not having someone? Wanting someone you know can never be.

* * *

 

The next day dawned cloudy and overcast, with the sort of light drizzle that soaked you to your skin and made frizzy hair, like Molly Weasley's, even more unmanageable. Not that she was in the mood to wrestle with recalcitrant hair. She found herself once more seated at the head of the large oak dining table in her kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and staring out into her equally unruly garden, watching increasingly confident gnomes diving in and out of the hedgerows. One even cheekily pulled down his trousers as he ran across her line of sight. Molly shook her head, as odd as it was, they were her only company these days. Their cheekiness reminded her of Fred and George…that thought caused her expression to pinch as she was once more confronted with the loss of one of her children. She sighed heavily and wondered whether or not to make a fresh pot of tea. It wasn't as if she had much to occupy her time these days, and her appointment with Minerva wasn't for several hours. As she stood, her magical senses began to prickle. Despite the war being over, she had left her high strength wards in place at The Burrow. Living on her own, she felt it was more prudent to do so, especially considering the building's solitude and the high profile witches and wizards that were known to frequent the house. Molly stood for a moment, teapot in hand, and visibly jumped as a polite knock sounded on the front door. She let out the breath she didn't even know she was holding and smoothed down the dark plum coloured robes she was wearing.

"Ridiculous," she muttered to herself, shaking her head at what she had come to. "You can't even deal with a knock at the door these days."

She knew she must look a state. She hadn't slept very well the night before, after having spent a good few hours crying inconsolably. The bags and shadows under her eyes did not make for a pleasant sight. Well, who was around to care anyway? Molly walked quickly to the front door and opened it, a polite smile flickering over her lips.

A slim, distinguished looking lady turned around as the door opened, her neatly pulled back brown hair gleaming with the accumulation of fine rain drops. The lady's midnight blue robes skimmed her figure, Molly noticed somewhat sourly, and over one shoulder was a large leather handbag. Looking back up into the lady's face, Molly could see that she was older than she had originally thought, possibly a few years younger than herself, with the beginnings of lines around the deep blue eyes and the pleasant set of the mouth.

"Good morning," the lady was saying, with a small smile. Molly smiled automatically. "I was wondering whether Arthur Weasley is at home?"

Molly's smile froze and she stared quickly up into open blue eyes searching for a hint of malice or danger, whilst patting for her wand that she realized too late was on her kitchen table.

"Is something the matter?" The woman's smile faded as she saw Molly's reaction. "Has something happened to him?"

Urgency permeated the woman's words. Through the haze of stirred up emotion, something didn't feel right. Molly trusted her emotions; the Prewett's were from a long line of psychics and aura readers. Molly ignored her instincts at her peril. Something was too urgent about the woman's question.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Molly stared at the uncomfortable looking woman.

"Astola de Vere." Astola thrust out her hand and shook Molly's hand in greeting.

"How do you know my husband?" Molly saw an undeniable flicker of…. _what_? Fear? in the woman's eyes.

"We work at the Ministry," Astola said, slightly evasively. "I've just come back from Europe. I was hoping to catch Arthur before I head back home."

Molly sighed. "Well, I don't recall meeting you before…" she sighed again. "I'm afraid you won't be able to see Arthur. He was killed in the final battle. Almost a year ago." She fingered her wedding ring absently, not seeing the way Astola's eyes flicked quickly to her finger. Astola visibly paled.

"Oh Merlin…oh sweet Merlin…no…" She stepped hurriedly backwards. "I must go, I'm so sorry…"

As she moved away from the wards guarding the house, she apparated quickly, leaving no trace of her presence ever having been there. Molly's mouth dropped open as she watched the hasty departure, fine rain accumulating on her face and running down her neck as she stood lost in thought. A sense of unease was growing as she thought about the woman who had just left. Surely if Arthur had worked with her he would have introduced her to Molly? They obviously knew each other well enough to make social calls, so why had she never seen this Astola de Vere at any Ministry functions or even during the war? Was she some sort of secret? Molly slumped against the wooden doorframe, ignoring the chill that was settling into her bones through her casual robe as she stared at the patch of garden path where Astola had apparated, as if it held the answer to the rapidly growing questions in her mind. Molly knew enough about the workings of the Ministry to know that there were a lot of staff there known only to personnel with the highest clearance. People who officially 'didn't exist,' people who took on the most sensitive, the most dangerous jobs of national security. Frankly, the thought of Arthur knowing one of them was ridiculous, Arthur had been shunted into a Ministry department that was viewed as slightly ridiculous even within the Ministry. Yet…she clearly knew Arthur… Molly took a deep breath. First, she would discuss this with Minerva. The headmistress was the most sensible and level-headed person Molly knew. Secondly, she would find out exactly who this Astola was. Then perhaps she would know what sort of questions she should ask. With a heaviness in her heart that had nothing to do with grief, Molly closed her front door and went to make that second pot of tea.

* * *

The headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, leaned back in her comfortable chair by the fireplace in her quarters and glanced at the clock. It was only 11am, Molly wasn't due for an hour yet. Minerva relaxed as she pondered Hermione's visit the evening before. She had no doubt about the sincerity of the woman's feelings, and she definitely understood the pain Hermione was going through in the grip of her unrequited love, but she really didn't want her getting her hopes up. She had never seen even the slightest hint of homosexuality in Molly – she had met Arthur whilst at Hogwarts and they had married shortly after graduating. They were, in fact, the textbook romance and both were utterly devoted to the other. Even Rolanda, whose instinct for anything even remotely lesbian was legendary, had never even so much as glanced in Molly's direction. Minerva tapped her fingers agitatedly against her teacup. Whichever way she thought about it, she simply couldn't see a favourable outcome for Hermione. Perhaps she should say something to Molly before she met the girl. At least that way her instinctual reaction wouldn't run the risk of upsetting Hermione even more than she need be. She couldn't have said as much to Hermione, but she agreed with her thoughts on the prospects of any relationship with Molly. It seemed unlikely at best. Nonetheless, the headmistress did genuinely think Molly had a right to know. Maybe it was a boost in confidence the woman would surely need right now. She sighed again as she stared into her now empty teacup. Why did matters of the heart have to be so blasted complicated?

She lifted her head as her floo turned green, heralding her visitor. Setting down her teacup she stood up and smiled as Molly Weasley stepped forward. 


End file.
